


Nineteen

by codswallop



Category: Score: A Hockey Musical (2010)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Drunken Confessions, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24266731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: Farley’s been looking forward to another birthday spanking all year.Sequel toEighteenand makes some slight references to events inBoyfriendsbut can be read as a stand-alone.
Relationships: Farley Gordon/Moose
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27





	Nineteen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nervouscupcakeinspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervouscupcakeinspace/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY FAVORITE CUPCAKE! 🎂💖🌈💜🥳🧁🌷🐓 It’s no parade of baby ducks in party hats delivering a cake to your door, but we do what we can in these troubled times.

“What a difference a year makes, eh?” said Moose, raising his glass to Farley’s. They’d been dating for months already, but Farley had held Moose to his year-old promise to take him on a birthday pub date the day he was of legal drinking age.

Farley took a swallow from his pint glass and struggled not to make a face. Moose had confidently ordered him some fancy craft brew, assuring him that he’d find it much more pleasing to the palate than the half-warm cans of Molson that the Blades favoured for locker room celebrations, but Farley would have been hard pressed to tell the difference. 

“You don’t like it,” Moose observed.

“No, it’s fine, it’s...it’s good,” Farley protested. “I just need to, uh, get used to it, I think. Educate my taste buds, so I can fully appreciate the, the…”

Moose groaned. “It’s _beer_ , Farley, it’s not one of your university classes. Dorm life hasn’t taught you anything yet, huh? Never mind, just get it down—the next one’ll taste a lot better to you, I promise.”

Farley nodded and refrained from saying that dorm life had taught him a _lot_ in the past few months, mostly about what utter piggishness the typical late-adolescent male of the species was capable of. Nothing about the university experience had made him especially eager to do more first-hand research into the stages of inebriation that he regularly saw the disgusting effects of in his peers, but he reminded himself that life experiences were a necessary and valuable part of human development. 

Also, it was just nice to be out with Moose. They’d both said their farewells to the Blades team at the end of last season, and between Farley’s classwork and Varsity Blues practices, Moose’s culinary school and rec league games, their evenings together were rare. Their dates usually consisted mainly of exhausted naps in each other’s arms and occasional bouts of starved sex.

“Okay, this is just painful to witness,” Moose said finally, watching Farley struggle to get his first pint down. “And it’s your birthday—I want you to have a good time. How about a cocktail instead? What do you like?”

“Um,” said Farley, wide-eyed, and Moose shook his head and laughed. He hung an arm around Farley’s neck and gave him an affectionate smack on the cheek.

“We’ll find something you like,” Moose promised, and he waved the bartender over.

*

“Moose,” Farley shouted, ninety minutes and nearly four white russians later. “Hey Moose. Guess what, Moose. Moose Moose Moose guess what!”

“Oh, man,” said Moose. “You are so drunk.”

“No! Oh, I mean yes. Yes I def…effinate… Yes I am drunk. But that’s not what I was gonna tell you!”

“Please tell me you don’t have early practice tomorrow.”

“I do not have early prastice, prastic, pratsick tom...orrow. But I was gonna tell you something else! I was gonna tell you I don’t, I don’t like these drinks.”

“You don’t?” Moose moved Farley’s fourth white russian out of his reach. “Coulda fooled me, kid.”

“Nope. Guess what? I LOVE THESE DRINKS.” Farley leaned over and stretched across Moose to try to take back his glass.

“I should have stopped you after three. No, two. Here.” Moose pushed a cup of water into Farley’s seeking hand. “Try this one instead. It’s called an H2O. You’ll love it.”

Farley gave him a withering look. “I know the chem, chemical composition of water, Moose. ’M not _that_ drunk.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart guy.” Moose leaned in close and bumped their foreheads lightly together. “Drink your water, then. You’ll be glad you did tomorrow.”

“I’ve never had a hangover before,” Farley said with bright interest. “New life experience! Yes!”

“Uh huh. As cute as you are right now, I think it’s time to call it quits. Are you good to come back to my place tonight?” 

“Yessssss,” Farley said, with emphasis, draping his arms around Moose’s neck. “Let’s go back to your place and have _so much sex._ ”

“There is absolutely no chance of that,” Moose said, and kissed him gently. “Drink your water while I get us a cab, okay?”

*

“I can’t go to sleep yet, though,” Farley whined. “What time is it? Is it still my birthday?”

Moose glanced at his bedside clock. “Twelve-fifteen,” he said. “Birthday’s over.” He sounded relieved. Farley had thrown up once in the shrubbery outside Moose’s grandmother’s house and twice more in the toilet of Moose’s basement apartment before Moose had finally gotten him cleaned up and tucked in with a pail next to his side of the bed. “I can’t believe I let you drink that much. I’m so sorry. I forgot what a lightweight you are. Want to try another cup of water, see if it stays down this time?”

“It’s over?” Farley looked crushed. “But I didn’t get my birthday spanking!”

“Awwww. Your new team didn’t give you one?”

Farley made a face. “The Blues are way too professional for that. They don’t even light farts. I kind of miss the Blades.”

“Me too,” said Moose. “You should see my team. Bunch of old geezers.”

“They’re nice,” Farley said. “Nice geezers. My team’s got some real a-holes on it. I’d never let them spank me.”

“Well, good.” Moose reached over and rubbed Farley’s behind possessively, and Farley arched up into his touch.

“Mmm. I wanted _you_ to spank me this year. Just you.”

“That’s sweet,” said Moose. “Sure.” He gave Farley a few gentle taps. “One. Two. Three...”

“Nooooo,” Farley said, and pulled away. “That’s not a spanking. I mean a _real_ one.”

Moose laughed. “What, like actually—” He stopped at the pleading, big-eyed look Farley was giving him, and his face went serious. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“It was kind of a turn-on, last year,” Farley said dreamily, flushing pink at the thought of it. “I was hoping, looking forward to it. With you. You’re good at hitting people.” He looked at Moose’s expression and the pink flush turned pale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Moose. I didn’t mean like...I didn’t mean…”

“Okay,” said Moose, and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s okay. Just, I think you’re still a little too incapacitated for us to have this conversation right now. We don’t do kink negotiation under the influence.”

“I’m sorry,” Farley repeated, but Moose cut him off and kissed him again, this time on the lips, firm and reassuring. 

“We can talk about it tomorrow. If you even remember this conversation by then. And if you can speak through the splitting headache you’re gonna have. Right now you’re drinking one more glass of water and then going to sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. The ceiling’s spinning. Can you make the ceiling stop spinning, Moose?”

“Sure,” said Moose, spooning up behind Farley and kissing him behind the ear. “I’ll give it a good spanking. That’ll make it behave.”

“You can’t spank the ceiling,” Farley whispered. “I think it’s drunk, too. You can’t negotiate with it when it’s in, indecapitated like this. Wait, did I say that right?”

“Perfectly,” Moose assured him, and reached for the glass of water, pressing it into one Farley’s hands and holding it while he drank.

*

“So, how much of last night do you remember?” Moose asked. He’d brought Farley breakfast in bed—a plate of potato pancakes and a huge glass of iced orange juice—and Farley loved him. 

“Uh, most of it? I think?” Farley took a small bite of pancake and swallowed it cautiously. “I remember coming here. I think...I might owe your grandmother a new azalea?”

“Nah, you just gave it a little fertilizer, that’s all. What about...after we got here?”

“I went to sleep. Didn’t I? Oh god. What else did I puke on? What did I do?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Moose assured him. “You were fine. You were very sweet and apologized to my toilet about fifty times.”

“Oh.” Farley gulped some orange juice. “Well, that’s repulsive. I hope I apologized to you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I apologized to you, for getting you wasted. And then you asked me to spank you.”

Farley choked. He managed, just, not to spit juice all over Moose’s sheets. “I...did?”

“Yup. Apparently you really enjoyed your birthday spanking last year, and were hoping for a repeat?”

Farley set his glass and plate down on the bedside table and drew his knees up so he could bury his burning face in them.

“Wow.” Moose shook his shoulder. “Are you okay? Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not _that_ weird.”

“It kind of is,” Farley moaned into his knees. “I mean…” He hadn’t thought he’d ever _tell_ Moose about his secret fantasy. It wasn’t even the fact that he wanted it; it was the intensity with which he’d envisioned it.

“Hey.” Moose gave Farley’s shoulder another gentle shake. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can, though, if you want. Only if you want.” He sounded so reasonable and unconcerned that now Farley was embarrassed about being embarrassed. 

“Maybe later,” he mumbled, and then lifted his head a bit. “Right now I kind of just want to get back to those placki ziemniaczane, okay?”

“Your pronunciation still sucks,” Moose complained. “Just call them potato pancakes, okay?” He passed the plate back to Farley, though, looking surprised and pleased, as he always did, by Farley’s appreciation of his cooking.

*

An hour later, the dishes done, they’d both settled back into bed to study side by side. Moose was frowning over his Sanitation and Food Safety homework, highlighting his notes for a quiz, and Farley was focusing on Flaubert. Or trying to. Moose’s hands were very distracting: big and capable, with long fingers that tapered, almost delicate despite their size.

“I used to get really turned on watching you manhandle guys on the ice,” Farley said in a rush, before he could stop himself. “And...and hit them, even. You were always so controlled and sort of _careful_ about it, and I used to wonder how it would feel. I don’t want you to punch me!” he added quickly. “But, um, anyway, and I guess maybe I have a sort of weird punishment fetish too? Since my parents never did it to me, and it seemed so...forbidden. It’s weird! Don’t tell me it’s not weird!”

Moose put his highlighter pen down. His expression hadn’t changed, calm and open and just a little amused, but Farley had to hide his face in Flaubert again. Moose took the book away from him, very carefully, and set it aside along with his own notes, and Farley bit his lower lip and held his breath.

“You’re _so_ weird,” Moose assured him, clasping a hand around the back of Farley’s neck and pulling him in for a thorough kiss. 

“Mm,” Farley said, and then couldn’t think of anything else. When Moose kissed him like that it was like his whole body woke up, every cell of it straining for more attention. “Well. Hi.”

“Hi,” said Moose, keeping his hand on Farley’s neck, still looking intently at him. “So, then, birthday spanking, huh?”

“I mean…” Farley swallowed. “Anything you wanna do to me right now would be amazing, but...yeah, sure, I mean, I guess. If you want.”

“I don’t know how I feel about it,” Moose admitted. “But we can try it. Can’t hurt to try. Well, I guess it _will_ , in this case, but...yeah. So.”

“So?” 

“So take your pants off,” Moose told him, still holding eye contact. “Get on your hands and knees.”

“I...okay.” Farley fumbled to obey, feeling awkward and almost silly, half-aroused, his stomach quivery with fear and excitement. 

“Count our loud,” Moose told him, patting Farley’s lower back as he knelt up behind him. “And say ‘stop’ if you want me to stop. I’ll start when you say Go. How hard do you want it?”

“Um,” said Farley. “Pretty hard? I’ll tell you if it’s too...I’ll tell you. Okay. Go.”

He laughed at the first stinging smack, a breathless yelp of surprise and released tension. “Sorry, that’s good, go. One.”

Moose smacked his ass again, a firm slap across both cheeks. Farley still felt more ridiculous than anything else. “Two,” he counted obediently, and then “Three. Okay, wait, um...harder? Can you?”

Moose could. “Four,” Farley gasped. “Oh, yeah, more like that. Five, oh, wow, that stings, keep going…”

They made it up through ten, and then Moose said “Time,” and Farley blinked hard; he’d been falling into a zone with the rhythm of the last few strokes, and it was a shock not to get the next blow he’d been anticipating. “How are you doing?” Moose said. “Is it okay?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Farley said emphatically, and then laughed self-consciously. “I mean it’s a little...it’s weird, I know, but, um, it’s doing something for me. How about you?” he remembered to ask, and turned around and sat down gingerly so he could see Moose’s face.

“I don’t know,” Moose said. “I don’t...I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re getting red marks.”

“Oh,” said Farley, reaching around to touch himself, wishing he could see. “I mean, it’s fine, it’s not like you’re breaking the skin or anything, right, and it feels...I kind of like it. But we can stop, if you don’t—”

“No,” said Moose, “We can keep going. I just wanted to check in, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Farley said, feeling shy and awkward about the whole thing again. “I, no, I don’t know, it’s all right, let’s just stop. I told you it was too weird.” He pulled the duvet around himself.

“It’s not,” Moose protested. “Hey. I’m just bad at it, or I’m scared I’m gonna...I don’t want to do it wrong. I’ve, uh, I’ve done a lot of smacking guys around, but only on the ice. Not in bed. And I’ve sort of given all that up, anyway.”

Farley wanted to pull the duvet all the way over his face. “It’s fine,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“But I only got to ten.” Moose scooted up the bed and wrapped his arms around Farley, who buried his face gratefully in his shoulder. “I have to give you nine more. It’s the law.”

“Yeah?” Farley gave a short, rueful laugh. “We’ll get arrested?”

“Well. Maybe not arrested. But it’s definitely bad luck.” Moose kissed Farley’s hair. “What is it you like about it? Tell me more.”

Farley breathed for a while. Moose’s t-shirt smelled faintly of warm cooking oil; it was nice. Comforting. “I had this kind of fantasy of you getting _really_ forceful with me,” he admitted. “Like, yanking me across your lap and just whaling on me, not violent but just...super firm, making me give in until it was over. And then, um, after, telling me I’d done good, and, and... It’s just something I… But it’s really, really, really okay if that’s not something you want any part of, it’s a fantasy, that’s all.”

Moose had been rubbing Farley’s back as he began to speak, but his hands had stilled, and his breathing had changed a little. “No,” he said slowly. “I think I get it. I can work with that. Maybe. I could try.” 

“Yeah?” 

Farley felt Moose breathe a few more times. In, out. “Yeah,” Moose said, and the next thing Farley knew he was being wrenched across Moose’s legs, held down hard, the duvet stripped away from him. Farley flailed, off balance, hands scrabbling on the bedsheets in search of something to grip onto.

“Hold still,” Moose snapped out, and gave Farley three sharp smacks in a row, much harder than before. Farley cried out in shock.

“Moose,” he gasped. “Oh god, please...please…”

Moose paused.

“Please don’t stop,” Farley begged, and Moose spanked him again, hard enough to force a ragged cry up from Farley’s throat. Tears stung the corners of his eyes, and he felt himself begin to get hard—Moose had to feel it too, he realized, and the humiliation of it turned him on even more somehow. 

“That’s fourteen,” Moose said. “Quit squirming; I told you to hold still.” Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and Farley couldn’t help it, he was crying out at every blow now, his dick getting harder as it brushed against Moose’s thighs. 

“Oh god,” Farley heard himself say in a strange, high, trembling voice that he seemed to have no control over. “Oh god, oh fuck, it hurts, please don’t stop, I need—more, please—”

“When I’m ready,” Moose said. “And when you can listen to me and keep _still_.” He reached around Farley and slid a hand up inside his shirt to pinch one of his nipples, hard, and Farley gasped and froze. 

“Good,” Moose said approvingly, and gave him the last two strokes, sharp and fast across the tender crease where his ass met his thighs. “Eighteen and nineteen, birthday boy. How was that?”

“Yes,” Farley moaned. He felt red with heat all over, throbbing and damp-faced, nerve endings sparking lightning all through him. “That...yes. Oh!” he cried, starting half up as Moose gave him one last surprising smack. 

“One to grow on,” he said. “Can’t forget that. Shh, okay, that’s all, we’re done, you did so good, you took it so good, and you’re so hard, look at you; do you want to come for me now?”

Farley choked on a sob, nodding wildly, his hips hitching, still trapped across Moose’s pajama-clad legs, helplessly trying to fuck. He’d never been so hard in his _life._

“Okay okay okay,” said Moose, and he must have had the lube at the ready, because his fingers were slick now, one hand reaching up beneath Farley to wrap around his dick and the other on his ass, soothing his hot tender skin for a moment before dipping in lower. A finger slid inside him and Farley gave a sharp cry and bucked, once, twice, fucking into the smooth firm grasp of Moose’s hand around his dick, and then he began to come, feeling it crest and break over him like a drowning wave. 

*

“Wow,” Moose said, sounding awed. They were lying side by side again, beached and limp, sodden, spent.

“Mmhmm,” Farley agreed, unable to open his eyes. Unable and unwilling. He was floating up near the ceiling on gentle swells of endorphins, and the rest of the world felt very unimportant and far away.

“Look at you. You are _wrecked_ ,” Moose told him, and Farley made a vague assenting sound; it was true, he felt like wreckage. Happy, floating wreckage. “Your ass is like...cherry red. Does it hurt bad?”

Farley nodded, then shook his head. “Don’t know,” he mumbled, half in the pillow. “No? Nothing hurts.”

“Well, it will later,” Moose said. “I’ll put some stuff on it.”

Farley managed, somehow, to crack one eye open and fling a hand out. “Not yet,” he said, trying to find some part of Moose that he could drag closer and cling onto. “Stay.”

“Yeah, okay.” Moose petted Farley’s hair and leaned in to kiss the corner of his eye. “Salty,” he observed. “You’re all right? Sure?”

Farley didn’t want to find more words than the ones he’d already managed, but the remnant of his brain that wasn’t fuzzed out on pleasure chemicals woke up enough to remind him that Moose had sort of just been through something, too. He made a heroic effort and opened both eyes. 

“I’m good,” he said. “I’m really, really...good. Thank you. That was so good. Best birthday present ever. What about you, are you okay?”

“Me?” Moose frowned and shrugged. “I’m not the one who just got my ass tenderized.”

“Yeah, but you...you did that for me, that was a lot, and it wasn’t even something you...wanted? Was it? I don’t know if I should have let you, made you... I’m sorry.”

Moose went quiet for a bit. “I guess I wouldn’t want to make it part of our regular routine,” he said finally. “I mean… _no_ regrets, it was amazing, and I don’t feel like you, uh, forced my hand...but yeah, I’m kind of trying to put recreational violence behind me, you know?”

“I know,” Farley said, loving him so much he had to shut his eyes again. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you drop the gloves again. Maybe until next year.”


End file.
